


Never Give In

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:36:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4162458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Reese and Fusco start betting on when Shaw will finally give in to Root. Against his better judgement even Harold gets involved. Root and Shaw decide to mess with the guys and clean them out while they're at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Give In

"The crime rate of Manhattan has dropped significantly in the past two months," a woman reporter's voice reaches the three men's ears as they sit around in a subway car.

 _You aren't kidding_ , John Reese thinks to himself, head tilting back to look up at the ceiling. His crossed legs beg for a chase, and his hands yearn for the feeling of a gun in his hand. It seemed like ages since the last time they'd received a number and- although his relative mission had always been to keep people safe- he sort of wished someone needed a little saving.

By the look on Detective Lionel Fusco's face, it is apparent he is thinking the same thing. His thumbs twiddle in his lap as he taps one foot, eyes scanning every detail of the cart for the umpteenth time. Further down the cart, Harold Finch sits in front of a number of monitors, watching lit-up maps of the city and a news report. He is utterly submerged, eyes glued to the screens.

"However, police believe this is merely the calm before a violent storm. Rumors have been spreading about a tension in gang violence, and many fear that- with this time of year- robberies will be springing up city wide."

"You doin' anything on Saturday?" Lionel asks suddenly, and John brings his head back down to look at the detective evenly.

"Why?" He asks, a boredom in his voice although the small quirk of a smile pulls on the side of his lip. "You asking me on a date?"

* * *

 

"Funny," Lionel dead pans back, eyes narrowed as he leans forward, unamused. Then, switching gears, he picks up a more professional tone. "There's a big meeting up at the lobby of the Empire State Building; didn't know if you were interested."

"As long as we don't get any new numbers," John sighs out, and Fusco nods.

"When was the last time you got one of those anyway?" Lionel asks, and John closes his eyes in thought.

"Two weeks," he says at last, remembering the rush of wind as he ran across the rooftops of buildings, the burning of his muscles as he kept a constant chase, and the satisfaction of bringing his number home safe. "Root and Shaw finished up with theirs a couple days ago."

"Where are those two anyway?" Fusco muses, looking out towards the empty, unlit terminal.

"Not sure," he replies, and Fusco gives a self-contained laugh.

" _I'll_  tell ya where they’re at," Lionel says with a laughable joke in his tone. "They’re out walking the streets; Root advancing any way possible and Shaw pretending like she doesn't have a clue." John laughs at that, icy eyes heating up good-naturedly.

"Or at a bar," John adds.

"Or at one of their apartments," Fusco continues. John raises his eyebrows in mock surprise.

"You really think they've  _made_  it that far?" He asks with a chuckle, and Lionel smiles.

"Root's been crackin' down hard on her lately," he says to John, eyes smiling but face serious. "I give Shaw- maybe- three or four days before she cracks."

" _That_  soon?" John asks skeptically, then brings a hand to his chin in consideration. After a moment, he shakes his head, sitting back. "No," he says, "it'll be at least two weeks and... three days."

"Are you out of your  _mind_?" Lionel explodes, eyes widening. "There's  _no_  way it'll take that long." Harold, overhearing their conversation, gives the men both a distasteful glare.

"And how do you know that, Lionel?" John asks with a certain haughtiness that further invests Lionel in his stance.

"It takes a trained eye to know these sorts of things," he shoots back, and John gives an amused puff of air in response.

"What do you think, Harold?" John asks, shifting his head over to look in Harold's direction. Harold's lips pull into a crooked slant, and his eyes are evidently annoyed.

"I don't find it right nor relevant to our circumstances to be discussing business that is not ours."

"That the best excuse you got, Glasses?" Fusco taunts, devilish smile on his face. "It's only conversation." Harold remains firm, back stiff with arms crossed.

"I am not joining in on your little gamble," he tells the two of them, then turns back to the monitors. "However," he adds under his breath, "if we are merely talking as comrades... I would have to say a week at most."

"A week is too soon," John tells him, just as Lionel says, "A week is too  _long_!"

_________\ If Your Number's Up /_______

"A week is  _precisely_  enough time," Harold comments back defensively.

"Three days is enough  _time_ ," Fusco fights back, smiling as he enjoys their healthy debate. "At the rate Root is hitting it home, Shaw's gonna be toast," he tells them smugly.

"You know Shaw," John says, voice condescending. "She doesn't give in that quickly to  _anything_."

"It's been a long time in the process," Fusco counters, and John nods, giving him that.

 _Unbelievable_ , Shaw thinks, concealed in a cloak of darkness. Not a single light in the subway is on, merely the ones strung up within the subway car, giving her the perfect cover to snoop and spy. She'd left Root at the entrance to their hideout, having left her lunch on Harold's desk, and came to retrieve it. However, upon entering, she'd heard these words: _I give Shaw- maybe- three to four days before she cracks._

 _Cracks?_ Shaw thought indignantly. _I don't crack._ Interested, she slinked closer to the cart's wall, keeping her ears open to hear the rest of the conversation. An unimaginable colloquy flooded in. Now, she tip toes back to Harold's desk, hands outstretched as she skims them over the surface for the feeling of a brown paper bag, all the while her mind reels.

 _They can't actually think I'm into Root, can they?_  She thinks in disbelief, giving a silent laugh in spite of herself.  _No way in Hell._

She finds the bag, retrieves it, and is gone without a trace.  _There will never be anything between the two of us,_  Shaw continues, her mind stern and thoughts forceful.  _It's not happening. No_. She's happy to feel the sun on her face as she exits the station, knowing now that the conversation from before is far behind her.

"Hey, Sweetie." Shaw freezes.  _Or is it?_ She can feel the jolt of electricity that darts down her spine at the voice- the greeting- and tightens her jaw. _I don't feel that way about her; I don't_. "What took you so long?"

"What, are you timing me?" Shaw spits a little too defensively, and can almost feel a hint of guilt as she watches Root's smile fall. Shaw shakes her head, feeling sick and disgusted, and heads down the block. Not a moment later, Root is at her side, uncharacteristically silent as they walk. Shaw can sense Root's warm presence beside her and gives a hard swallow, forcing her eyes straight ahead- it wasn't the first time Root made her feel this insane.

Two more blocks of silence fill them as they wander without aim, looking for something to do on a sunny day in the city, but unsure what. Like a seed, the conversation at the subway grows in the pit of Shaw's stomach, blossoming out until it is too much to hold inside. With anyone else, she would have personally chopped it down to a stump, but she felt as if this wasn't something she was capable of hiding from Root.

"Can I tell you something?"

Upon hearing the words, Root's heart skips a beat, and her feet falter below her. Keeping her face forward as to not show her anticipation, she gives an uneasy smile and a nod. She's holding her breath.

"First, you need to tell me you'll hear me out, okay?" Shaw asks, and Root can hear the nerves in her voice. Somehow, this only makes Root worse.

"Okay." A silent second that feels like an eternity passes between them before Shaw speaks again.

"All that stuff you do when you're messing around? You need to do that more often."

"When I'm messing around?" Root interrupts with confusion on her brow.

"Yeah, you know, the whole  _'hey sweetie'_ and stuff you do whenever you're joking with me. You have to do that more around the guys, and I do too. A little." Root can feel her insides ripped seven different ways at the words.  _Why do that? She thinks how I feel is a joke? What is she talking about?_

"Wh- what?" Root manages weakly, surprised at how even Shaw's tone has remained throughout their entire walk. Root can feel her legs like jello, and doesn't know how Shaw is walking at all.  _She thinks I'm... joking?_

"The guys, they have this sort of bet on us," Shaw clarifies, stopping to look Root dead in the eye. Root can feel the color draining from her face, and she leans against the nearest building to keep her grounded. Her chest hurts and her mind races, all the while the world swims around her; the only things clear are the sound of Shaw's voice and the clarity of her eyes. "About when they think I'll ' _cave in_ ' to you. Crazy, right? Like they actually think that..." Shaw trails off, and Root can feel her vision tunneling. With a cough, Shaw picks back up. "I say we go along with it, getting them for all they've got. It'll teach the three of them what happens when they mess with us. You in?"

Root blinks her eyes slowly a few times, her lungs feel like a balloon with a leak, and her heart hurts miserably. Every time her eyes focus on Shaw, a new pang of pain pierces her chest. Sure, she'd always said the things she did with an am-I-joking-am-I-not air, but she never thought the tone was  _that_  indistinguishable. It was a cover, a fall back- the laughter in her voice and the grin in her eyes.  _How was it that someone so good at reading people couldn't at least see some of this?_  Root, with a sinking heart, has no idea. With a steadying breath, she steels her stomach and nods.

"Yeah, let's do it."

________\ We'll Find You /________

 _Day four_ , Shaw thinks to herself with a wicked giddiness that gives her far too much pleasure. _Lionel's time is almost up_. She can see it in his eyes, the impatience in them as he continuously peered over at the two women each day.

"Hello, Pretty." Shaw hears the melodic voice at the same time she feels delicate hands on her shoulders and warm breath in her ear. Her heart gives an involuntary lurch just as Fusco sneaks a glance their way. Turning her head towards Root's slightly, she gives Root a half smile.

"Morning, Gorgeous," she throws back casually, and watches with a sort of fond satisfaction as Root's cheeks turn a shade of pink. Shaw's mind is torn back to the day she'd asked Root to go through with this. How she mentioned everything as a joke-  _merely foreplay_ \- hoping not only that Root bought it, but more so begging for that to be all it was. More than just a way to con the boys, Shaw wanted this to be a deciding factor on what she'd been telling herself for far too long: there is nothing there.  _If I can get through this without feeling anything, then it's obvious there never was anything to begin with._

However, that hope becomes increasingly harder to fulfill. With each passing day, she finds her plummet picking up speed, and her banter back becomes easier and easier each time.  _It's like the beginning of an addiction,_  she decides. Coming to like- even crave- the next encounter. She angrily shoves the feeling away, squishing it under her boot like an ugly bug.

Root's smile brings her back from her thoughts, and she stands numbly as Root pulls away from her, headed towards Harold and the constant news feed he's been keeping uncanny tabs on. Taking a glance over his shoulder, Fusco makes sure Root isn't paying attention before he stands, meandering over to Shaw with too much forced casualty.

"So, uh, what was that?" He asks, his faked lack of interest obvious enough to make Shaw chuckle.

"What was what?" She asks with an innocent smile. Lionel smirks.

"That little greeting the two of you had going on," he says, trying to keep the robust- _call it victorious_ \- grin from emerging on his face.

"Oh, that?" Shaw replies with little enthusiasm, all the while letting her eyes travel past Fusco to look at Root. She can feel this inner reaction welling within her, and- unlike what is custom- she allows it to filter onto her face. Her eyes scan over the back of Root, taking in everything from her shoes to her hair and back again. She bites her bottom lip, pauses, then gives her head a distant shake as she pries her eyes away. She finds, with a slight nervousness planting in her stomach, just how hard that simple maneuver is. Eyes back to Fusco, she says, "It was nothing."

"Do you  _really_  think I believe that?" He asks, raising his eyebrows, and she narrows her eyes inquisitively, lips pursing in deep thought. "What are you doing?" Lionel asks, foot beginning to tap as anticipation makes him irritable.

"Trying to decide whether to tell you something," she says, keeping an eye on the way his face changes, knowing that he's falling right into this part of her trap. She keeps silent a few minutes more, daring Lionel to burst; however, he holds his tongue. "I think I might..." She stops, furrowing her brow as if she's conflicted.

"Don't worry," Fusco assures her. "I gotcha." Shaw allows her face to slip into a minute sign of relief, a sliver of a smile flittering on her lips.

"Good," she sighs out, then swallows, stalling for effect. "I feel like I should take her somewhere... nice." Shaw's voice drops to a barely audible whisper, yet Fusco doesn't miss a word, eyes wide with attention.

"A ferry ride wouldn't be too bad of an idea," he replies in that same, hushed manner. "They can be pretty nice at night." Shaw nods, looking beyond Lionel once more, making sure Root isn't watching. Then, she does a small wincing gesture, as if she's forgotten something.

"Shit," she whispers, opening her eyes. Her smile is hidden behind a serious wall, watching Lionel creep in like a fly about to be caught in her web. "I don't get my paycheck 'til next week. I can't-"

"Here," he interrupts her, shoving his hand into his back pocket before protruding a brown, leather wallet. He pulls out a couple bills, then hands them to her. "You don't have to pay me back."

Shaw, giving him a skeptical look, counts the money.  _Fifty dollars_. "Really?" She asks, then relaxes. "Thanks, Lionel." He flashes her a radiant smile, then takes a step back.

"Anything for a friend."

 _Anything for a bet_ , Shaw mentally corrects, but merely gives him a loose, crooked smile. Once Fusco is back in his seat, and Shaw has pocketed the funds, she clears her throat.

"Hey, Root?" She calls across the terminal, and Root turns, her hair fanning out before dropping back across her shoulders. She gives Shaw an expectant look, and she continues. "You wanna go for a walk?"

Root flashes a coy smile back, stepping out of the cart and slowly heading towards Shaw. "With  _you_?" She asks, unable to keep even an ounce of enjoyment from her voice. "How could I refuse." Root's heart races like it's been injected with adrenaline, and her pulse soars like sparrows on crack at the smile that barely pokes out on Shaw's usually solid face. Her eyes are excited, and Root can feel her mind slipping far off track.  _Maybe this whole thing isn't so bad_ , she thinks, feeling almost shaky as she comes to Shaw's side. The past four days had been a heaven Root could never have even thought possible. And- as the two walk from the station- she wonders just how long it will last.

In the dark hall towards the exit, Root can see the silhouette of a man. As he steps into a small pool of blue light, she sees the features of John Reese and smiles.

"Hey, Shaw, can I talk to you for a second?" He asks, barely acknowledging Root's greeting. His eyes are swirling with thoughts that cloud his vision. He gives Root a quick look that speaks volumes and she nods, slipping past the two and out to the corridor before the street. From where she stands, she can hear their voices touching her ears like the footsteps of ants.

"What's up?" Shaw asks.

"Just wanted to know how things are going between you and, well, how things have been."

"They've been normal," Shaw responds with a mildly defensive slowness to her words.

"You've just been a little more-...  _compliant_  lately," he informs her, and a small laugh escapes her lips.

" _Compliant_?"

"Compliant." Silence holds them both tight for a moment, and Root leans in, ears straining to hear a single thing. "Are you thinking about, you know, talking to her about it?"

"As a matter of fact," Shaw replies seriously, "I was just headed to do that now."

" _Now_?" His voice comes bellowing loudly through the walls, taking Root off guard.

"Yeah, is that a problem?" Shaw challenges, and Root can't help but smile.

"No, no," John back pedals casually. "I'm just thinking- well, she waited this long- why don't you plan it out a little more. Give it just a little more time."

"How much more?" There is a gap in sound as he thinks it over.

"Maybe.... one week and five- say  _six_ \- days?" He tosses out there, and she snorts.

"Nothing like specifics," she replies with a dry humor, and a minute later her footsteps are thunder in Root's ears. Shaw steps around the corner and is illuminated in the soft light that reaches them from between the messy planks of wood before the exit. There is a triumphant grin on her face, and Root can't help the flutter in her heart.

Shaw brings her hand to her pocket, then pulls out a few slips of greenish paper. A moment later, she sticks out a hand with half of it, waiting for Root to take the small pile. Her heart stops mid-flutter, then sinks far into the depths of her stomach. With a crashing anguish, she acknowledges what this is.  _It's nothing more than a business deal._  With little enthusiasm, she takes the bills. Her fingers burn with an anger as they come into contact with the money, and she wishes the heat could burn them all right then and there. There is a scorching resentment for the currency deep within her, knowing that those few green papers are the only thing real in all of this, and that Shaw's actions are merely an illusion. A dream not only deferred, but never to be met at all.

_______\ Never Give In /_______

Shaw stands with a drink in one hand and a purse hiding her three-eighty in the other. She takes another sip, feeling the liquid scorch and soothe her throat at the same time, and her head bobs lightly back and forth as loud music crashes into her ears, and low lights are mingled with neon flashing beams. Even with bodies dancing about all around her, she keeps her eyes open for anyone looking suspicious. Only a few days ago, they'd received their first number in weeks- a DJ working an up-and-coming club on the edge of the city.

_'We have a number.' The words were like heaven to the team's work-deprived ears, and everyone was eager to get on the case. They were practically wolves as they descended upon the file, reading over Harold's shoulders, determined to finish first._

_'How was the date?' Lionel asked into Shaw's ear as they stood there, devouring the screen._

_'Never went,' Shaw'd replied with an absent mind, and Lionel let out an indignant puff._

_'Then I want to money back,' he demanded, and Shaw merely laughed._

In the few days leading up to their case, Shaw had managed to get over on John twice, all the while Root was agile enough to coax a few things from Harold as well. All in all, it was looking to them like fair payback. At the end of the day, it was decided that Root and Shaw would be placed first-hand into the operation. Root, somewhere in the building, was working a shift to keep an eye on all routes non-accessible to party goers, while Shaw's mission was to gain the number's trust. John would take a place as a bartender, hopefully being able to oversee the entire crowd. The music pulses through the air, and Shaw can feel the ends of her straightened hair bouncing about with the vibrations.

Emerging from the crowd, she sees a group of four men in business suits sitting together in the shadows, eyes prowling the scene. Amongst the short dresses and low-riding pants of the crowd around them, they are pathetically out of place. Not a single one of them smiles, nor do they even tap their foot at the beat. However, all of them have their eyes plastered to the DJ, who stands on stage behind a large keyboard and surrounded by hundreds of swaying bodies.

"J- as- m- fr- b- ck- g- to- uh- ack." Shaw taps her earwig in annoyance, hearing very choppy syllables through a long line of static.

"Hello?" She calls into it, taking another drink. Only static greets her. "Root, if you can hear me, I need you to watch some guys in the back of the club. Copy?"

Static.

With a string of swears, she snaps the device off, eyes smoldering as she looks about. She downs the rest of her glass, tired of holding it, and places it on the nearest table. A drunken hand envelops her wrist, and she snaps it back aggressively.

"C'mon  _baby_ ," a man with a voice of slurs and a breath of bourbon stammers out to her, large mustache dark with alcohol and eyes glassy. "Whassrong?" He reaches a sluggish and disoriented hand out her way.

"Touch me again and I'll brake all of your fingers." Slowly, he pulls his hand back with a look of intoxicated rejection in his eyes. Rolling her own, Shaw stalks off, one thought on her mind: Root.  _And for more than one reason_ , she  acknowledges with a sigh.

Only seven days ago she could control almost everything that came to her face, and her emotions were always low key. Yet, with this scheme she imposed, she finds it all difficult to control. Her face, her emotions- she never thought she'd ever see the day. However, it is here, and it is all her fault.  _Root did this to me_ , she fumes, stalking past the group of men with eyes searching. Before it was gradual, the ball rolling so slowly Shaw could convince herself it was at a stand still.  _Now?_   _Now it is full steam ahead,_  and she can feel that the end of the tracks is dangerously near.

Only a few stools down, Root sits with her hair in a low ponytail, glasses covering her doleful eyes. A pensive cloud surrounds her, and she can't for the life of her shake it. She smooths down her red tie, then runs her hands down the black suit pants she has on. Just like all of the other waitresses, they are forced into the same formal attire. Without Shaw around to cloud her thoughts with smiles and innuendos, she is free to feel a heavy emptiness in her heart.  _She's just not getting the point_ , Root thinks to herself sullenly, oblivious to the world around her, most specifically the woman in the black dress growing steadily closer.  _And I don't think she ever will._

There is a hand trailing over her shoulder, and she barely has enough time to look up before she feels a weight in her lap and a hand on each of her shoulders. There is a look on the woman's face- an expression Root can't place- but it gives her chills all the same.  _Sameen_. Shaw wraps her arms further along Root's neck, and Root's heart begins to hammer. Shaw slips her hands into Root's hair, bringing her mouth to Root's ear. The music around Root seems to dim as the rushing of her pulse thuds deafeningly in her ears.

"Coms are down," Shaw murmurs into Root's ear, who sits like a statue. She's facing straight forward, barely breathing, and her heart feels as if it is dying and going a million miles an hour all at once. "But there are four guys to your ten o'clock that I need you to keep an eye on. You can't miss them, they're in suits." Root can hear the sounds of the words but has no concept of their meaning. Her brain is a jumble of short circuiting wires as Shaw's fingers continuously toy with her hair. Shaw’s breath is a mixture of gin and tonic and everything Root needs, all surrounding her in an intoxicating cloud.

"I've gotta go talk to the number in a minute, I think he just got off the stage," Shaw continues, noting the playing of normal, unmixed CDs, although Root has no recollection of the switch. "Anyway, four men in the suits. Ten o'clock. Get it?"

Root swallows hard, eyes staring straight ahead as her lungs burn from the lack of oxygen and her chest screams in pain. In an airy whisper, lips barely moving, she replies, "Got it."

Shaw lets off an amused puff of air through her nose as her face travels down, mouth coming to the edge of Root's jawline. Root feels like hyperventilating; only, she can't remember how to breathe. Even her heart stops, and the world around her takes an intermission. Shaw hesitates a moment, the brushes her lips against Root's skin.

"Good." She says. Root's heart explodes in her chest. Just as quickly as Shaw had appeared, she is gone, leaving Root frozen in her seat and more confused than ever.

On her own end of things, Shaw is questioning her mental stability as she wanders towards the bar. She allows herself to be absorbed in the music, hyper-focusing on every note and sound around her, trying to keep all thoughts of Root from her mind. Against her attempts, her name always remerges in Shaw's mind.

Coming up to the bar, Shaw spots a man with a Yankee's cap on backwards and a light jacket that hangs off of his shoulders. Taking a seat beside him, Shaw stealthily checks the photo on her phone. Stowing it away, she looks at the young man to her side, trying to come up with something to say.

"You the DJ?" She asks off-handedly, and he looks over to her with a smile.

"Dat I am," he replies in a smooth Jamaican accent. "And who might you be?" Shaw shrugs, crossing her arms on the bar.

"Just someone who likes music and a good time," she replies, and he lets out a rumbling laugh.

"You and me- we could be  _good_  friends," he says to her with a warm heart, then beckons over a bartender. "A round for the two of us," he calls out, and the bartender nods.

"Make it two for me," Shaw adds, and the number looks at her with surprise and delight in his eyes.

"Dis a competition now?" He asks, and she can't help a small smile.

"I've just got something to get out of my head," she tells him.

"Don't we all," he responds, then lifts his hand, signaling the number two over his head.

A disclaimed number of shots later, the two sit at the bar, each with the slightest buzz in their heads. Shaw can hear her brain humming, and feels a lightness on her shoulders as she does a sweep of the scene. She feels alert- she knows her limits- all the while things seem to almost float around her. She lets her stool do a quick 360, looking for anyone who could pose as a threat to their number, all the while hearing the faint sound of shattering glass from the back room. Turning around, she brings a hand to her purse, prepared to fight if that glass is more than an accidental slip. Glancing to her left, Shaw sees the DJ in a worse condition than she’d thought, eyelids beginning to droop as he leans over onto the bar.

Just as she hears another sound from the back, a hand is placed on either side of the bar from behind her, and a voice greets her ears.

"Hey, Sweetie. Is the reception any better over here?" Shaw, registering Root's voice with the slightest quirk of a smile, pushes herself in a slow half circle, allowing the bar stool to come face-to-face with Root. Root is smiling at her amiably, brown eyes catching the low light and reflecting it in flecks of stars, and Shaw lets her head fall a fraction to the side, eyeing Root over with interest. The part of Shaw that was so apprehensive before seems to be washed out with the alcohol, leaving behind only her truths, and not the protective fort of fabrications and excuses. "Harold said something over the earwigs, but I couldn't make it o-"

In one relatively fluid motion, Shaw tugs down on Root's red tie. Catching her off guard, Root has no time to collect her balance, only following the motion through. Before she has time to register the outcome, her lips land with no coordination on Shaw's, and Root's eyes burst open wide in surprise before fluttering closed. Shaw is the match to her hydrogen bomb, and her entire body spontaneously combusts. She can feel her blood catching fire, the heat of flames licking her skin and scorching her tongue. From her left, she can hear drunken laughter and heavy clapping.

"Oh my  _God_ ," the DJ chuckles out cheerily, and Shaw lets go of Root's tie, pulling herself back. Root stays frozen in a partial slouch, lips still slightly parted, and eyes a second behind as they reopen. Shaw has this satisfied smirk playing on her face, and Root can't help the unleashing of butterflies and fire in her stomach.

"Guess Harold was right." John's voice comes to them from behind the bar, and Root's eyes focus upwards in a daze. She sees Reese, a few cuts on his face and a torn shirt sleeve, leaning against the inner side of the bar with an amused smile. Root can feel the heat in her cheeks, and a smile subconsciously reaches out from ear to ear.

Bringing her eyes back down to Shaw, she sees Shaw's face drop from a smirk to biting the bottom of her lip, eyes squinted in the premonition of pain consistent with that of a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Root feels the grin growing even wider on her face, wanting to capture this singular moment in time forever.  _Getting busted never felt so good._


End file.
